Together, Sho and Masaki sifted through the debris, looking for any signs of blood that might give them some hint of where Kenji Murakami’s body was hidden. In the end, though, neither of them were able to find any trace of the boy. Tetsuro, who had been idly wandering around the edge of the clearing and looking at the trees, not wanting to intrude on Sho and Mr. Murakami’s search, was the first one to find out about the camera.

It had been turned off by Commander Gyou, which was a good thing for them all, since there was no way that they could have avoided being seen by it with the way they were all moving around.

"Mr. Murakami!" Tetsuro called, once he had realized the significance of what he was looking at.

"What is it, Tetsuro?" Murakami asked, turning away from the pile of destroyed books that he’d been digging through.

"I found something I think you might want to have a look at," Tetsuro said, pointing out the concealed camera.

Masaki came over quickly, dropping the ruined books and narrowing his eyes as he looked at the spot where Tetsuro was pointing. Masaki’s eyes narrowed to enraged slits as he realized just what he was looking at. Those sons of bitches! For there, attached to the tree and hidden in such a way that no one who wasn’t actually looking for it would even notice the thing, was a small handheld camera.

"I should have suspected they’d do something like this," Masaki said, the hatred he usually felt for Chronos overshadowed for the moment by his own self-hatred.

He should have known, should have suspected that something like this would have happened. He should have taken Kenji with him as soon as his son had expressed an interest in leaving. Or he should have never changed his tactics in the first place, and only visited the single time that he had planed. Hadn’t Kenji been perfectly able to deal with storms like the one that had happened last night?

Hell, Kenji had even said himself that he hadn’t been afraid last night. If he’d just listened to his survival instincts instead of giving in to some stupid paternal urge, Kenji would still be here waiting the next time that Masaki came out to see him. But that was all in the past now, and as much as Masaki was loath to have to do it, he had to focus on the future if he was ever going to be able to get his revenge on Chronos for what they had done.

And right now, that meant laying his son to rest so that Chronos wouldn’t somehow be able to use Kenji’s body against him. If Masaki had let himself think about the fact that he was looking for the body of his dead son, he was sure that he would scream, so Masaki made an effort not to think about it. It would become real once he found Kenji’s body, until then it was just an abstract exercise.

Glaring at the camera, Masaki ripped it out of its hiding place and crushed it in his hand. Turning away from the tree with a decisive snap, Masaki walked back to the rubble and scattered debris that had once been his son’s shelter. Maybe I should have let Kenji stay with the ACF. But the inherent mistrust of anyone but himself and his son had led Masaki to make that decision, now he would only have to live with it.

I hope for Kenji’s sake it was quick and painless, but knowing those bastards it probably wasn’t.

xXxXx

Fully undressed and laying in a heap at the bottom of the still empty processing-tank, the kid’s wide, deep blue-green eyes were beginning to glaze over by now. Dr. Halverson, as he worked on the chemical solution that would trigger the necessary development – a mixture of growth hormones, muscle stimulants, assorted vitamins and minerals, and an extra boost of calcium to harden the boy’s bones – was grateful for small favors.

Finishing the necessary adjustments to the solution, Dr. Halverson started feeding it into the tank. He hated to imagine what it must’ve been like for the kid, what with being paralyzed and then suddenly having this watery substance poured over him. He had done this kind of thing before, yes, but that had always been with fully-grown men, and even then some of those people had been volunteers. Dr. Halverson reminded himself again that he was just doing his job.

Dr. Sanderson had taken care of getting the kid ready for processing after Dr. Henderson had left. Thanks to him, there were already monitoring devices attached to all the proper points on the kid’s body. He’d been a bit squeamish about handling a nude, helpless kid like that. It had seemed almost like molestation at the time, but Sanderson had just shrugged off his concerns like they had been annoying insects. Halverson had been grateful to his fellow scientist for doing something he couldn’t.

The tank was a little more than half-full of fluid by this time, and the kid’s own natural buoyancy was now causing him to float upright near the bottom of the tank. The tank was filling quickly, and Halverson wondered idly for a moment whether the kid would end up at the top of the processing-tank by the time he stopped rising. Shaking himself out of those pointless thoughts, Dr. Halverson turned his attention back to his monitoring duties.

The chemicals were just now starting to take effect, but there wouldn’t be any sign of real physical changes for at least the first ten minutes. But, even then, Dr. Halverson had to stay and monitor the growth of the… of the specimen. It would be long, boring work, but it was a necessary in this case. It would be only too easy to make a mistake that would cost the child his life. All the easier, in fact, since Halverson was still feeling uncertain about what he had to do.

But, when it really came down to it, it was in fact his life or the boy’s. Commander Gyou was brutally unforgiving of mistakes, and he was a sadistic son of a bitch besides. Halverson knew that the only way he was going to live to see his next paycheck was if he did his job right. He just wasn’t that noble. Breathing deeply, Dr. Halverson concentrated on his job. The muscle stimulants seemed to be taking effect by now if the readings he was getting from the processing-tank were accurate, and Halverson knew they were.

Looking back at the boy in the processing-tank, Halverson saw that the physical changes had become visible by now, if only just. The boy’s musculature was showing at least a fifty percent increase, and his stature had started to change as well.

xXxXx

It had taken twenty minutes, a conversation, and a few destroyed trees, but Mr. Murakami had eventually come to accept the fact that his son was gone. Sho himself had been the one to pull the older man away from where he had still been digging through the remains of the tent and the books, and to tell him that there was no body to be found. Mr. Murakami, of course, hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. And Sho couldn’t really blame him for that, since being kidnapped by Chronos was a fate that all of them considered worse than death.

Sho didn’t even want to think about what Chronos was probably doing to the poor boy. Just like my father. This is all so wrong, Sho thought sadly, shaking his head. He only hoped that Kenji didn’t end up becoming a Zoanoid, too. For his sake, as well as Mr. Murakami’s, Sho hoped that Kenji Murakami would die peacefully. Looking up from his place in the middle of the group, Sho could see that they were coming within sight of the cabin again.

Mr. Murakami, who had been silent after taking out his completely understandable rage at Chronos on three of the trees and the remains of the tent, was walking at the front of the group. He was also still holding on to the old, beaten up stuffed tiger that he had pulled out of the rubble of the tent. Sho couldn’t help but think that it had once belonged to his son. The cabin was just the way they had left it, but the hope and excitement of the group when they had left was completely gone by now.

"I can’t believe it," Mizuki said, sniffling. "I just can’t believe that even Chronos could be that heartless."

From the front of their group, Mr. Murakami made a sound that was somewhere between contempt and exhaustion.

"Believe it, Mizuki," Tetsuro said, patting his sister’s shoulder. "They’ve done this kind of thing before. Remember what happened to Mr. Fukamachi."

"Yes," Mizuki said, wiping at the tearstains on her face. "I remember that. But… but Kenji was just a little boy."

"It doesn’t matter how old he was," Mr. Murakami said flatly, speaking for the first time since they had started back to the cabin. "The only fact that matters is that Kenji was my son. That’s why Chronos kidnapped him. I only hope that they didn’t manage to turn him into a Zoanoid. Or, if they did, I at least hope that I would have the strength to…"

Mizuki gasped, looking over at Mr. Murakami in shocked disbelief. "Mr. Murakami, you… you don’t mean that you would actually kill your own son!"

"I’ll do whatever I have to," Mr. Murakami said flatly.

Mizuki looked as if she was going to try and argue, but Tetsuro put a hand on her shoulder, silently urging Mizuki not to. They would all just have to hope that that kind of decision never came up. The rest of their walk was in silence, right up until Mr. Murakami reached the door of the cabin. Knocking in a predetermined pattern, Mr. Murakami waited for someone to answer him. The door opened soon after he had stepped back.

"You’re back," Shizu said enthusiastically.

"We are," Mr. Murakami said wearily, brushing past her and heading for his room.

"What’s the matter?" Shizu asked, turning and following Mr. Murakami with her eyes.

"Ask someone else," Mr. Murakami said, just loud enough for Shizu to hear. Not paying attention to anything that anyone else was saying, Masaki Murakami walked away.

xXxXx

Masaki felt drained. He felt even worse than he had the times that he had been forced to fight Hyper Zoanoids. This was so much worse than simply having to strain more, to push himself harder in a battle that he had started in the first place. Up till now it had been easy to forget that the Zoanoids he faced in combat had once been ordinary people with hopes and dreams of their own.

They had all just been the enemy. An enemy that Masaki had had no qualms about dealing with, even about killing when that became necessary. But this was different; Kenji had been with him for six years and six months, he was the last living memory of Miaka that would ever exist. Masaki wasn’t sure that he would even be able to use his telepathic powers on Kenji if it ever came down to that kind of situation.

But all that was probably a moot concern since the transformation itself would probably kill Kenji anyway; ripping his small, fragile body apart from the inside out. It was a depressing kind of thing to hope for, but it was the best out of any scenario that Masaki could think of. Looking up, Masaki saw someone standing in the hallway that led to his room.